Heirs of War

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/legalcodeMisha huddles under a thin blanket. She is alone. Papa left to join the fighting men weeks ago. Mama went out two night ago in search of food—a potato or some bread, perhaps—and hasn’t come back. She is too cold and thirsty to cry. She curls herself into a tight ball around Papa’s stocking cap—the one he wore to plant the garden when times were better and which stills smells like him. She wonders where he is now, if he’s curled up somewhere—cold and thirsty—and thinking about her. Misha closes her eyes against the frigid darkness and tries to sleep.Read More »

Backseat Driving

headlights-1449254_1920Gigi climbed reluctantly into the back seat of the old Chevy, slamming the door behind her. She watched as her mother settled herself into the driver’s seat and fiddled with the light controls. The windshield wipers flicked back and forth twice. Headlights switched from high to low beam and back, illuminating the yard ahead.Read More »